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The Maw Opens
The Maw Opens It sat as it had done for the past handful of decades. Crippled, struggling, hungry. Yet, despite its isolation, it was healing. Slowly to be sure, but healing indeed. Its mind crawled slowly with primal instinct, plotting and preparing. The toxin was still within, yet with each successive generation of growth and proliferation it was beginning to combat it. It could still feel the writhing, burning pain of itself, its young, being cauterised by the explosion of the warp drives and plasma torpedoes. Weapons reserved only for the genocide of an entire planet were detonated in its brethren, their psychic screech forever burning still to fully fade from its conscious. The evidence of the struggle was still etched onto its form, great ravines of scars along its carapace. Escaping only by drifting into the warp and being dumped out of the empyrean randomly it found itself now here. It was almost ready, its wounds were almost healed and it was ready to feast. --- Kaupe stepped out of the webway portal and grimaced to himself. He spat on the cold ground below him and waited until the rest of his warriors also entered back into realspace. The asteroid complex was strewn with debris and old ships. The currents and eddies of the warp ebbed around here, and were prone to dumping anything that was drifting aimlessly through its incomprehensible waves. Kaupe and his kabalites were inside the ruins of an ancient colony ship. Even to his dulled and atrophied psychic senses there was a great shadow over this place. He turned away from surveying the area and towards the closing portal as the last of his cadre arrived. Nine of his finest stood before him, clad in segmented dark teal armour, sharp and jagged. Deep magenta glyphs finely adorned some segments, and despite their fearsome appearance they possessed an unearthly elegance. Kaupe announced to his warriors “Kanaloa in his infinite wisdom has sent us to this spit of realspace to further his own machinations. For another morsel of the Haemonculus’ secrets we must deliver to him one of these hive-beasts to play with.” He turned again to face the gloom of the ship. “Kaupe, Sybarite”, began the youngest of his warriors, “What of us? Will the Haemonculus’ secrets benefit us? Will we receive a tithe of slaves for this? I did not leave the Lagoon to snoop around a mon’keigh pit for no reward.” Kaupe spun around and grasped the dissenter by the neck with such force that an audible pop was heard as the air was shunted out of the windpipe. “Listen here, ungrateful amniotic-born shit. You are but a speck of dirt, born of a whore and if I did not scavenge you from the effluence of the streets to sculpt you into a master of murder then you’d have died as the Kabal’s slave and suffered the death of a thousand drownings. Show some gratefulness that you’re here and not laying broken in a pool of your own piss, that the Kabal has armoured you and paid you slaves instead of flaying you and pulling your bones out through your still breathing lungs. Show doubt towards the Archon again and I’ll do just that.” Kaupe dropped the warrior to the floor, knowing the demonstration would have shocked not only the young one, but all his squad into shape. Not that he’d ever show it, but Kaupe understood the recruit’s concerns. He himself wasn’t sure what the Archon was going to pay them for this job, and in fact given half a chance Kaupe would gladly wring Kanaloa’s neck and take the Kabal as his own. Of course, were he to ever show any sign of his desire then he’d quickly find himself spread very thinly as a paste over the surface of the nearest planet. With a curt nod he began to stalk along the length of the ship, his warriors closing in close behind. --- For a being as cruel and heartless as Ts'ophix, the delicious irony of such a small mercy was not lost on him. The asteroids had been home to a race of hideous feral xenos, untouched by man that, should they have been disturbed, would easily have laid waste to all but the largest of Imperial forces. The servants of the corpse-emperor are spared then from this alien menace, never to be troubled by it for the rest of eternity, but only because it was swiftly eaten up by the Devourer, desperate for biomass to repair itself when it fell into the system. Trading the unknown danger for the familiar enemy. Small mercies indeed. Ts'ophix let out a hollow, rumbling chuckle as his mortal minions filed past into the dropships. The Chaos Sorcerer's obsession with providence and synchronicity is what had turned him to the service of Tzeentch in the first place. He strode along the gantry of the loading bay and regarded the hundreds of cultists and traitors pouring into the transports. He smiled, the cracks of skin underneath his helm creasing with hidden glee. Their ship had stealthily entered the materium and was nestled close to the beast itself. The hive ships were not yet fully functioning, their repairs slow and laborious due to limited biomass. Specifically the Norn-Queens were yet to become fully functional, and without the biomass to properly mature them the psychic links needed to fully coordinate the fleet were missing. Ts'ophix paced back along the walkway to where his honour guard waited, clad in terminator armour. He raised a fist and the air around them turned a sickly green. "Scourging Eye, It is time...", he said before intoning the words of some dark sorceries and with a mighty peal of thunder the six traitor marines vanished in a bright green flash, reappearing moments later on the surface of one of the asteroids. "...time for us to wake the sleeping giant." --- Metres away from where Ts'ophix teleported stood Lord Daenael. Why Juliaen had deemed it necessary for him to assist the ventures of this uncooth, unrefined sorcerer was beyond him. The man had no decorum, no elegance, and to Daenael this was a waste of time. Indeed, the release of the Devourer would mean the Imperium’s forces would be stretched ever thinner, but why Daenael and his retinue were charged with assisting the venture was hard to understand. But orders were orders, and from a host as immaculate and perfect as Juliaen these were orders to cherish. He pushed past a gaggle of baying daemonettes and approached Ts'ophix. The daemon bound within his gauntlet's claws stirred, sensing his distaste. "Ts'ophix, when shall we seek the pleasure of battle? It has been decades since I last danced with the Tyranid, I yearn again to taste the meat of my foe" he asked, salivating from torn lips. "Patience, whoremonger." snapped Ts'ophix "First we must gently provoke our quarry into defence. Then we release the floodgates and give it the feast it ever so greatly needs. There will be no glorious battle or lustful combat today, consort of Slaanesh." Daemonic, warp-spawned bastard, thought Daenael. This had been one of Juliaen's perverse jokes, a ridiculing punishment for some past transgression. Sent to rally with some esoteric warband and then denied all sensations of battle. He took a deep breath, relishing the emotion of frustration as it flushed over him, and turned back to march to his troops. The daemon within his gauntlet stirred again and whispered to him. "Strike him down. Drink his blood. Feast on his skin. Wear his face." ''it intoned. "Smell his heart. Taste his breath. Wear his skull as a crown and then scream to Slaanesh in delight!" '' Daenael had long ago learned to block out the whisperings of his captive companion, but he had to agree that there would be much glee to be had in tearing apart this rabble of old spellcasters. He strode past the daemonettes again and rested against an outcrop next to his chosen. Agitated and eager to vent his emotion he began to scrape deep symbols and runes into one of the helmets he kept as a trophy on his armour when a great call from the Tzeentch followers roused him. "Gavix, Ametos, Ramik, Indal, Skulswot, form up!" called Ts'ophix as his honour guard lumbered around him. Using his witch-sight he peered beyond their position to the other side of the asteroid. "Warp damn this place!" he bellowed as his calculated demeanour erupted into that of barely controlled anger. He instantly turned to Daenael's party. "You, whoremonger. Go see what else is on this blasted rock. Something has stirred the beast before we ordained it to, and whatever it is doing here it will bleed for its act against me." Daenael would usually have struck down the sorcerer where he stood for speaking to him with such disrespect. However, his battle lust was about to be slaked, and for that he forewent any matters of etiquette, for now. Immediately he leaped forth and began to footslog his force along the asteroid, whilst Ts'ophix and his retinue remained to coordinate the offensive. This was but a minor setback in the plan, and the plan, in Ts'ophix's mind at least, must succeed. --- The dissenter had not uttered another word since Kaupe's chastening, even after they sighted the first hive ship. Even for an eldar raised in the cyclopean scale of Commoragh the ship was a massive sight, and even stranger to think the thing was alive. A single lance blast to stir the ship into birthing and the kabalites returned to the winding cover of the colony ship. Upon further exploration the colony ship was revealed to have been buried into the asteroid, no doubt the product of some disastrous collision during warp travel. They had waited for a while longer before the thud of mycetic spores penetrating the ship's outer armour sounded throughout the halls. The squad slowly advanced towards the source of the sound, slinking from the shadows with the stealth of a graceful predator. Skittering noises and animalistic screeches echoed along the ship. Baying breath and chattering claws followed, indicating to the kabalites that their prey was closing in. Kaupe knew that the tables could turn easily. He had fought the Tyranids before and knew that their ravenous hunger was their sole driving force. It would not be hard for the warriors to become the prey. Kaupe decided to wait in ambush in a side corridor linked to the main throughway, a simple chokepoint with a clear exit should they need to fall back. As his warriors set up cover behind a series of shipment crates he felt a chilling sensation wash over him. He felt a dark hole in his consciousness begin to burn and the dark sensation of the tug of She Who Thirsts grew stronger. A dread fear gripped him as he glimpsed not a chitinous form of a Tyranid, but the voluptuous and terrifying form of a daemonette, the hideous and frightening spawn of Slaanesh herself. Every kabalite froze in fear as it strode into the corridor, followed by a handful more, pirhouetting and somersaulting in. An evil grin bled across their faces as they tasted the fear in the room, every raw emotion like nourishment for them. The warrior wielding the darklance tried to line up a shot but his trigger finger trembled so greatly he could not bring the weapon to fire. With a shriek the lead daemonette rolled forward and grabbed the young warrior by the throat with its great claw. With a predatory grin upon its face it cackled in an unworldly tongue, "Slaanesh feasts tonight!" The recruit could sense the Great Enemy at the edge of his perception, ready to drink up his soul. Before the daemonette could clamp down any further on his neck the room exploded into a tableau of action. In the doorway a horde of black carapaced hormagaunts had erupted into the corridor, ravenous and agile. Before the daemonettes could react the gaunts had already ripped two of their number to shreds, the daemonflesh hissing as it melted back into the warp. The daemonette holding the warrior dropped him as she turned to fight the swarm. There had to be at least fifteen or twenty Tyranids in the doorway, and the warriors knew this was the time to run. Backing out of the corridor just as the gaunts had ripped asunder the chief daemonette, Kaupe hit the airlock button and sealed the gap between them and the warriors. A single gaunt managed to wedge its arm into the doorway before the bulkheads slammed shut, severing it from the body. His heart pounding, Kaupe decided to chance fate. Kanaloa would string him up between the spires of his palace for failing this mission, but perhaps the chance encounter with the spawn of the Enemy would sway his judgement. He picked up the clawed arm from the floor and observed its black form. It was clearly malnourished and ill-grown. “The Tyranid ship is lacking sufficient biomass to function, Sybarite. Why else would it sit helplessly in such a barren area of space?” commentated one of his number. Kaupe replied “That is obvious, Tahi,” turning to face his warriors, “but why the slaves of Chaos are here too is the greater question.” He dropped the arm back to the ground and raised his splinter rifle. “To the surface. We need to get a better view of what is going on in this place.” --- Daenael hacked his way through what felt like scores of gaunts. In a frenzied glee he danced around them, taking his time to scoop up the decapitated heads of his enemy and stare them in the eye like a lover stares into his partners. The daemonettes around him also waltzed a lethal dance, cutting the gaunts to pieces. Daenael had felt the screams of the dying daemonettes in the ship below but he was too caught up in the moment to care. He had brought only ten of his men, who too were screaming and shrieking in delight as their bolter fire shredded the Tyranids limb from limb. A great warcry interrupted their orgy of death and a great wave of bodies came crashing towards the Tyranids in a mass of flesh and fury. Hundreds of cultists sprinted towards the horde wielding crude stub rifles and clubs, sharpened knives and pistols. Daenael stood amazed as the rabble rushed past him, looking to his men for any clue as to what was going on. They too stood gawping as the cultists slammed into the swarm. Immediately the front row of militia was cut to pieces, their stub weaponry completely ineffective and useless. The next few lines were also torn apart as they impotently swung their weapons around with great fervour, their faith in the Dark Gods overwhelming any fear they may have. A few of their number tried to turn on their heels and run but were pushed back by the sheer mass of those behind them, meeting a violent and hideous end either trampled to a pulp or shredded by scything talons. Daenael waded through the mass, cutting a swathe with his claws, the daemon within screeching in pleasure as it surged through the weapon, guiding every blow. Eventually he emerged from the other side of the rabble, as did his men. Their daemonic companions continued to fight in the thick of it, deftly trading blows with the xenos. The chaos space marines regrouped, surveying the landscape. Despite the colony ship’s still functioning gravity generator producing a stable field for the entire asteroid, an occasional casualty would fly off into the void, its blood crystallising as it poured from the corpse. Odorous witch, thought Daenael. At least warn us before you let loose your pack of mongrels. --- Ts’ophix relayed the last of his orders before he turned the voxcaster back off. The third wave of militia was proudly sent to their death, most of them completely unaware of their fate. Observing through a pair of magnoculars he could see the hive had already started birthing the ripper swarms, ready to rend down the fallen flesh into liquid. Things were going perfectly, except the identity of the meddler was still a mystery. Over the ridge came Daenael, finally he must have dealt with them. “Daenael, tell me you have slaughtered whoever it was that interfered with the scheme?” he asked. Daenael heartily laughed “Whatever it was had either been torn apart by my daemons or consumed by the Devourer. Nothing will leave this rock alive unless we ordain it so.” Ts’ophix composed himself “The great schemes of The Scourging Eye are beyond a simple hedonist like you, whoremonger. A simple setback could cost us great wealths of time and effort.” “Then shoot down anything that tries to fly off this damned rock. You command the force of an entire warship, witch. I am not your lapdog.” Daenael rebutted. “Insolent little fool, what if it is able to leave here without travelling through the materium? Hunt it down now, if the powers that be over Tethyan catch any wind of this then they may be able to mount sufficient defences and our plan will be for nothing!” Daenael tried to swallow his bile but his fists moved of their own accord and grasped Ts’ophix’s head in its massive claws. In an instant the sorcerer’s bodyguards had raised their storm bolters to the lord’s head. “I don’t think you meant to do that, did you?” asked Ts’ophix, a dark frown of petulance forming under his helm. Daenael regained control over the daemonic gauntlets, and pulled his hand away. The Scourging Eye terminators lowered their aim as he stormed away. “I will find the rat and bring you its flayed corpse, sorcerer.” He said with a renewed battle lust. Juliaen had pledged his forces to assist in the scheme, reflected Ts’ophix. A mutually beneficial alliance, the forces of Slaanesh were to be a welcome addition to the crusade. A pity they had to be so precious about themselves. --- Kaupe’s pace slowed to a crawl, his body still moving but at such slow tempo, like a mantis stalking its prey. Almost prone, his squad were perched just below a small outcrop of rock, the colony ship just behind them, and the meatgrinder battle ahead of them. Kaupe noted the suicidal fury of the cultist’s charges, and the unrelenting slaughter from the Tyranids. Rippers were busy slithering about the ground, ripping great hulks of flesh from bone, both living and dead, engorging themselves until they grew so bulky they could barely move. The warriors watched for hours, unmoving as wave upon wave of crazed mon’keigh charged to their deaths. The last few waves weren’t even equipped with guns, and only a handful had anything more than a sharpened shiv. They spectated as the final dregs of the zealots were cut down to the ground, a mass of broken flesh and bone. The ground was crimson and glistening, ripper swarms writhing like maggots amongst the bodies, and those which were full dragged themselves to a great pit and began to decompose into a thick, putrid liquid. The scores of gaunts let themselves become swallowed up by the rippers, the hive recycling the biomass. Kaupe slowly raised himself up and signalled for his kabalites to head back to the ship. He had seen enough and knew that the fell forces intended to awake the Devourer. Kanaloa would surely not be displeased at this, rather than rounding up a malformed little runt for the Haemonculus they could now slip into realspace during a full planetary invasion and steal away a great warbeast. Oh, he could taste the glory now. As the nearest hive ship began to lower a great proboscis into the flesh pit, Kaupe and his warriors entered back into the ship. Another chill ran down him as he thumbed the opening switch for the outermost door. Instinctively he readied himself and raised his rifle. As they doors slid open the towering form of Daenael stood in front of them. Each took a step back and fired at the chaos lord, and their splinter ammunition ricocheted off his terminator plate. He roared, “Alien filth!” and swept his clawed gauntlet across the lithe form of one of the warriors. The daemon within echoed his roar as its bladed digits licked across the eldar flesh. The eldar whimpered in pleasure at the feeling of its torso being rendered from its hips before it felt the tug of something in its soul. In its final dying moment it screamed out as She Who Thirsts plucked his delicious soul from his body, savouring its every call of agony. A second volley of splinter fire hit Daenael, this time a few rounds pierced the soft area between the plates of his armour. He could feel the poison flow in his system and he reeled for a second as his body adjusted to break it down. Again he roared a mighty battle cry and spun round, claws lashing out. The eldar too danced their graceful dance about him, cuts beginning to appear in his armour’s soft spots where they deftly sank in their poisoned blades. Despite the toxin’s slowing effects on him, Daenael managed again to pierce another warrior, this time skewering him on the tip of a claw. The minds of the daemon and Daenael began to coalesce, sharing the experience of the slaughter. With another sweep of his hand another eldar was fatally wounded, cleaved from shoulder to hip as the alien mewled with delight at the sensation of her death. With each kill, however, the eldar fought with great ferocity as if renewed from the suffering of their kin. Kaupe drank in the pain of his fallen brethren. He would not miss them, many pitiful street rats will rise to take their place but their martial skill would be missed, loss of such mighty warriors would always set back the kabal. The dull agony of the poison in the chaos lord gave him strength too, and soon he would drink in the suffering even more. He unfurled his agoniser, a great thorned whip, and lashed out at Daenael. The whip wrapped around his arm and attached itself straight to his nervous system, sending lightning waves of unbearable pain through the chaos lord’s body. Daenael crumpled and sank to his knees, screaming in both crimson agony and the blackest of pleasures. Kaupe took this opportunity to run, knowing that they were fighting a losing battle. Even if they could best this slave to Slaanesh there would be more in his place to come. With speed unattainable by even the greatest human athletes the kabalites took to their heels and sprinted into the ship, leaving the groaning form of Daenael behind. After they had covered the outermost complexes they took pause and counted their number. Three good soldiers had been lost, hardly a backbreaking loss to the kabal but a loss nonetheless. The Archon would definitely not be pleased about this, and Kaupe pondered if his lord would choose to punish them for it. He had known those who failed Kanaloa to have been set out in pieces with care, surgically deconstructed though very much alive, and left to silently scream as every nerve ending was set alight. Shrugging off such fears he tried to reassure himself that he could sway the Archon’s judgement with his rational argument; the filth of a lesser race got in their way, and after besting the mon’keigh in combat they decided to wait to capture an even grander prize. It seemed legitimate enough. Eyeing up the young recruit he knew who to scapegoat should the need arise. He activated an egg like device on his belt and a gaping hole in reality slicked open. The kabalite warriors stepped into the turbulent surface of the webway portal, steeled and ready to pay the price of failure to their Archon. --- Daenael’s men had found him in a state of almost transcendent agony, and had carried him back to where Ts’ophix was. After he had come round from his fits of pain he slowly raised himself up. Not only did he have the metabolism of an astartes but he had the blessings of the Dark Gods and, though such an ordeal would have killed a lesser man, he would survive. “So, whoremonger,” Ts’ophix greeted the dazed lord, “you found our vermin.” “Dark kin, ten of them.” Daenael managed to spit out. “Their paincraft clearly got the better of you, hedonist” replied Ts’ophix, “where are they now?” Daenael still reeled from the aftershock of the pain, his nerve endings now dulled from firing for so long. He craved sensation again, and this numbness was the greatest anathema to him. “They turned their xenos hides and ran” he uttered as his body swayed in the aftermath of the ordeal. He unconsciously was driving the foreclaw of his right hand into the wound on his shoulder, trying to stimulate some sensation. Ts’ophix had both fought against and worked with the dark eldar in his centuries of plotting, and he knew that their reason for being here would be beyond his ken. His cognition suggested to him that it would not be the last time they would throw their lot in either, they would no doubt be back to further their ends. He raised his head skyward and watched as the hive ships slowly began to stir into life. The feast of six thousand cultists was enough to accelerate the growth of the new Norn-Queens. The hive was fully functioning and ready to start devouring again. “Skulswot, are the genestealer hybrids secured?” he asked his subordinate. “Yes, my master!” replied one of his bodyguards. “Good, then let us make way to Tethyan. There we shall sow the seeds of its fall!” he smirked, “The maw opens.” He turned to his warband and invoked their battlecry: “The Eye watches!” he shouted, and in unison they replied, “The Eye scourges!” --- It pulsed with energy. It was conscious and once again it could feel. It remembered vividly the death of the main fleet at the hands of the astartes strike cruisers. It remembered the warp drive of the kamikaze attackers detonating and ripping open a storm. It remembered falling into the empyrean, dying and exhausted. But now it was alive again, reborn and ready to feast and consume whole worlds again. It could sense a strong tug below it, a cult of its children guiding it. Slowly and inexorably it began to sail forth. Splinter Fleet Evission has awakened. The maw opens.